*Sigh* My boobs own me. And not in a good way. Before I rant for a minute, let me tell you that I am EXTREMELY happy that I am able to breastfeed. I love the bonding time with my daughter. I love how much she is growing on my milk, especially when the doctors were so worried about her size. I love that breastfeeding has been SO extremely easy for me … no latching problems, no pain, no thrush (knock on wood), etc.
That being said … I AM SO DAMN TIRED OF BEING TIED TO MY DAMN PUMP. I pump while at work, if you cannot already tell. I have an oversupply to begin with (which sometimes causes Sabine to choke, or pull off and spray her AND me in the eye with my milk, but that is an entirely different rant) and pumping is a careful balancing act for me. I want to pump enough to not be engorged and leaky all the time (I am QUITE leaky ALL the time) but not so much that I send messages to my boobs to make MORE milk, making me MORE leaky and engorged all the time.
So, I plan my day around pumping. You want to meet at 9am? No can do. I will be pumping. You want to go to lunch? As long as we’re back by 12:45, because I’ll need to pump then as well. You need me to stay later than 6pm? No can do. My boobs will be ready to burst again at that time, and I cannot fit any more damn bottles in my damn bag than what I already bring. I would have to dump some, which would make me very sad.
This is how ridiculous my pumping has become … you know how hearing your baby cry, looking at your baby, or even thinking about your baby, can trigger let down? Looking at my pump does that to me. I’m not even joking. Damn you, oxytocin.
I swear, when I am done BFing, I will take my pump out into the street and smash it into a million tiny pieces. No, actually, I lied. I won’t do that, because I will be doing this same exact thing again for the next child we have. I guess its a true love/hate relationship.